Tangerines That Are Bitter
by BradburyStreet
Summary: In the aftermath of a drunken one-nightstand, Australia finds himself inexplicably in a predicament that he doesn't know how to handle or comprehend.


**Hangovers**

* * *

In this rather messy hotel room, there is a rather messy bed. Next to this rather messy bed in this rather messy hotel room is a rather messy nightstand. And on this rather messy nightstand, next to a rather messy bed, in a rather messy hotel room, is a digital alarm clock.

The time reads 7:29:56 A.M.

… _57_

… _58_

… _59_

7:30:00 A.M.

A loud and obnoxious alarm erupts from the device, alerting the occupants of this rather messy hotel room to arise to the new morning.

Its loathing screams don't last long.

On cue, a tan, muscular arm emerged from the rather messy sheets of the rather messy bed and slammed down on the device. However, the arm underestimated its strength and promptly _smashed_ the clock into pieces. Muffled swears were heard from under the rather messy sheets, probably cursing at the arm's actions. Shifting about, the arm curls over the rather messy sheets as the body attached to promptly sits up.

The body is revealed to be a man – a man possibly in his late twenties or early thirties. He has brown hair, which, like everything else in the room, is a mess with locks protruding about. His pale emerald eyes were bloodshot and tired from the previous night's events. Across his nose is an adhesive bandage, most likely from some sort of mishap. With the exception of a shark tooth necklace, the man is shirtless, showcasing his rather… _impressive_ physique.

But who is this man?

Fortunately, he has a name.

Unofficially, his name is Jett Kirkland.

_Officially_ however, his name is Jett Kirkland, the Commonwealth of Australia.

A disgruntle yawn escaped from the Australian's mouth. Much to his dismay, Jett could feel dull pain throbbing in the back of his head.

"_I'm never drinking again… I'm never drinking again…"_ he mentally chanted.

His mouth still tasted like beer and the scent lingered in his breath. The Australian let out a belch and wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell. After rubbing his eyes of the accumulated rheum, Jett wondered what happened as he looked around. The trashed state of the hotel room brought a smile to his lips. His pants were on the floor, his shirt on the dresser, someone else's shirt on the foot of the bed, and his undergarments were hanging from the ceiling fan.

"_I __**really**__ wish I could remember what happened…"_ the Australian thought. His body was aching from more than just a hangover. It must have been fun.

That thought of 'fun' quickly evaporated when Jett's eyes discovered a familiar pair of black boots on the floor.

And a familiar black coat…

And a familiar axe…

And a familiar black hat…

Wait… axe?

The Australian shook his head and realised there was an _axe_ standing nonchalantly in the corner. Jett licked his lips, glancing at the black coat and then at the axe.

_Oh no…_

A mumble next to Jett nearly made him jump out of his skin.

Turning to his right, Jett felt his cheeks heat up. Illuminated by the sunlight shining from the windows, next to him was another man sleeping peacefully. He has blonde hair that glowed under the light and his paler skin contrasted with the Australian's tanner skin tone. Numerous scars were dashed here and there on his muscular torso. Much to Jett's horror (or embarrassment) – there was also a satisfied smirk on the man's face.

The brunette clasped a hand over his mouth and his stomach dropped.

He couldn't believe it – he didn't _want_ to believe it.

Unofficially, Jett Kirkland slept with Mikkel Densen.

_Officially_, the Commonwealth of Australia slept with the Kingdom of Denmark.

Denmark.

_Denmark. _

That name kept repeating over and over in Jett's brain. He sat there; staring at Mikkel's sleeping form, wide-eyed and shocked.

"I… I slept with him…" he mumbled.

"_**I**… slept with… **him**." _

This was bad – really, _really_ bad.

He needed to get out of there – **now**.

The Australian slid out of bed quietly as he didn't want to wake the sleeping Dane. He winced at the pain from his lower back and silently re-dressed. Jett stopped halfway when Mikkel yawned and snuggled deeper into his pillow. After slipping on his tank top and sandals, Jett slipped out of the hotel room. Walking down the hotel corridor, Jett's mind was a buzz of frantic questions.

How did this happen? Why did this happen? Why did it have to be _Mikkel_? The last thing Jett could remember was getting another round of mugs and—

Suddenly and unexpectedly, something slammed right into Jett. The Australian stopped unfazed and glanced forward. Nothing there.

"Fucking Hell!"

Looking down, he sighed. _Oh great…_

On the floor was a shorter man, who was now wiping coffee off ruined dress shirt. He has short brown hair with curly locks that resembled a ram's horns. His eyes were a darker shade of green than Jett's. In addition to his ruined shirt, the man's papers he was previously carrying were now scatted all over the floor.

Unofficially, his name is Benjamin Kirkland, Jett Kirkland's younger 'brother'.

_Officially_, his name is Benjamin Kirkland, the nation of New Zealand.

"Watch where you're going!" Benjamin snapped.

"I'm sorry Ben," the Australian helped the shorter man up.

"But this is a bad—"

"Where the Hell were you last night?! I tried calling you!" the New Zealander yelled.

"Arthur was practically chewing me out!"

"Look I know you're mad—"

"Mad? Just wait until you see Arthur…" Benjamin warned.

"Look, _**I'm sorry**_ okay? I was busy!" Jett explained.

"Busy huh?" the New Zealander snorted as he viewed Jett up and down.

"Yeah… you were _totally_ busy last night."

"It wasn't like that!" the Australian snapped.

"You know what – **I don't care**. We need to get ready for the meet— … is… is that a hickey?" Benjamin pointed to Jett's neck.

"Don't touch me!" Jett immediately swat the hand reaching out to him. Benjamin looked visibly hurt.

"O-Oz…?"

"I… I got to get ready…"

With that, he walked past the New Zealander, ignoring the shouts behind him.

Once in the safety of his own hotel room, Jett headed straight for the bathroom. Inside he turned the faucet and switched on the showerhead. After shedding his disheveled clothing, the Australian stepped into the tub, pulling the shower curtain across. A sigh of relief escaped the man's lips as the heated water pelted his body. He stood there for a bit, letting water wash away the grime from last night's events.

Closing his eyes, the sound of water became distant to Jett as memories began to drift into his mind…

* * *

_Their breathing mingled with each other, along with their sweat which filled the room with the sent of sex._

_He threw his head back, enjoying the feeling of being rocked back and forth from the rough thrusts. _

_He couldn't take it any more. _

"_M-Mikkel!"_

* * *

Prying himself from his rather… _interesting_ memory, Jett opened his eyes.

He felt his cheeks positively warm.

_Definitely_ busy last night…

* * *

He reached out, expecting his fingers to brush a sleeping face.

Instead, they only touched bed linen.

Mikkel opened his eyes slowly and discovered the other side of the bed was empty.

_Gone._

The Dane sighed in disappointment and sat up. He ignored the bitter hangover he received from last night and looked around. His hotel room was an absolute mess and his clothes were scattered everywhere. Mikkel noticed a few things that weren't his and guessed they belonged to his long-gone visitor. He yawned and checked the clock on his nightstand.

_10:49:57 AM. _

"Shit!"

Mikkel leapt from his bed, the sheets flying and then drifting to the floor from the draft of the drastic movement. Quiet curses were breathed as he ripped the dresser opened and yanked out a new pair of slacks. He made another glance at the clock before running into the bathroom to fix his hair. Once his distinct hairstyle was properly fixed, the Dane ran back out and searched for a clean shirt. While he searched, there was a knock at his door.

"Come in!" he shouted while ransacking the dresser.

"Typical."

Recognising the voice, Mikkel turned away from the dresser. Standing in the doorway is a man with his arms crossed. He has hazy blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. The man wore a grey dress shirt, black slacks, and dress shoes. He also wore a cross-shaped hairpin in his bangs.

His name is Bjørn Thomassen, _officially_, the Kingdom of Norway.

"Dammit Norge," Mikkel pulled out a clean shirt.

"Why didn't you wake up?!"

"I'm surprised you can remember my name… considering how drunk you were last night." Bjørn replied with nonchalance.

"_This_ again." the Dane buttoned up his shirt.

"Gezz, what's the big deal? Can't I live a little?"

"The 'big' deal is that I'm sick of dealing with your heavy drinking and following drunkenness." the Norwegian admitted.

"But more importantly, I'm truly _sick_ of coming back to _our __assigned__ room_, and finding you passed out after fucking some… _degenerate_."

"You think I _enjoy_ bunking with Berwald while you have _'visiting hours'_?" Bjørn hissed.

Mikkel rolled his eyes at his friend's angry remarks and focused on getting dressed. As he sat back down to lace up his boots, the Dane noticed a pair of sunglasses on the floor. Perplexed, he bent down and picked them up. They weren't his or Bjørn's.

"Hey Bjørn…"

"What?"

"Any… any chance you bumped into the guy from last night?" the Dane asked.

"You really don't remember anything, " Bjørn shook his head in disbelief.

"To be fair, last night was kind of a blur… but I _do_ remember some guy…"

"What was his name again?" Mikkel wondered.

Though last night's events were a foggy blur, the Dane could recall certain bits. He remembered the bar, drinking, and meeting that guy… but nothing more.

"Damn… who was it?"

"It doesn't matter," the Norwegian snatched the sunglasses out of Mikkel's hands.

"Hey!"

"You can deal with your bar-hookups later; we have a meeting to attend."

* * *

Jett walked into the conference room silently. The room was still being prepared for the meeting that was going to start soon. Several Nations where already there, bypassing their time by chatting with others. The Australian peered around and sighed in relief; Mikkel hasn't shown up yet. He wasn't in the particular mood to deal with him at the moment.

"Hey guys, look who showed up!"

That voice stopped the Australian dead in his tracks.

_Oh shit… _

"Why, it's Australia!"

_Double shit._

"You're right François…!"

**_Triple shit._**

Jett turned around and saw a trio of men approaching him. One gentleman has platinum blonde hair and red the business formality around him, the man wore a black hoodie with jeans. There was also a fluffy yellow chick perched on top of his head. He is quite known for his egotistical attitude and boisterous manners.

His name is Gilbert Beilschmidt, the Kaliningrad Oblast. Historically speaking, he _was_ the Kingdom of Prussia…

In the centre was a taller gentleman. He has shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes, and had a slight amount of facial hair. The man's outfit projected a sense of seriousness, but also hints of suave and romance. His personality reflected this, as he quite the romantic who flirts and appreciates a lovely person (no matter what they are).

His name is François Bonnefoy, the French Republic.

Next to the Frenchman was the third gentleman. He has curly brown locks with warm green eyes. His skin had a darker tone compared to the other two, closer to an olive complexion. The others consider him 'clueless' because of his inability to 'read the atmosphere'. Despite this he's generally optimistic and cheerful – though he may come off as insensitive at times.

His name was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the Kingdom of Spain.

Together, they are considered 'the Bad Touch Trio' – for obvious implement reasons.

"What do _you_ guys want?" Jett demanded.

"Woah, woah – calm down," Gilbert raised his hands up mockingly.

"_Someone_'s cranky this morning."

"Well, he _did_ do quite a lot of drinking last night…" François pointed out.

"I didn't even know you could drink _that_ much!" Antonio said in amazement.

The Australian growled in annoyance and walked to his assigned seat. The trio however, decided to follow him along the way.

"Tell me Jett," the Prussian man slid his arm around Jett's shoulders.

"How _was_ your night?"

"Fuck off." Jett snapped.

"Aw, did someone not get enough sleep?" Gilbert taunted.

"Gilbert, I swear to God I'm _not_ in the mood for this…" the Australian warned.

Pushing off Gilbert's arm, Jett quickly walked toward his seat and sat down with a huff. François took the seat left to him, while the Spaniard right. Gilbert stood behind the Australian, resting his hands on the man's shoulders. Jett eyed them all venomously and hoped the trio would wise up and just _leave him alone_.

"Now, now, Jett," the Frenchman pushed his bangs aside.

"We're just checking up on you. I _personally_ wanted to see if you were alright."

"Bullshit."

"No it's really true Jett!" Antonio defended.

"I was actually worried that you would die from alcohol poisoning!"

"That's still bullshit." the Australian spat.

"You guys probably just sat there and watch me make an arse of myself."

"_Yeah…_ that pretty much summed up our night…" Gilbert said as he fiddled with Jett's hair, unknowingly making the man even angrier.

"But it wasn't all just sitting around – you impressed us last night."

"… _What do you mean?"_ Jett's voice became low suddenly.

"Oh _nothing_…! Just… well…" his companions giggled.

"I caught you doing something rather… _interesting_... in the bathroom." the German told.

Jett's hand coiled into a fist.

"Specifically, you were in the _kissing_ – … no, you were more like _eating_ that guy's face off."

"Say Gilbert, who _was_ that guy anyway?" Antonio mockingly asked.

"I agree, who was that _dashing_ gentleman?" François played along.

The Australia felt his blood boiling with rage.

"Well since you all kindly asked, the person Oz was munching on was no other than—"

Gilbert didn't get a chance to finish that sentence because – before anyone could register – Jett had slammed him against the wall, startling everyone at the Australian's actions.

"BASTARD!"

"Oz!"

"Gilbert!"

Jett turned to see Benjamin and another man looking at him with shock. The man was taller than the New Zealander with slicked blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore a black business suit with polished shoes and an expensive watch. The man was very hard working and valued order with bureaucracy. However he didn't tolerate slacking off or lollygaging.

His name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, the Federal Republic of Germany, and the younger brother of Gilbert.

"Are you crazy Oz?!" Benjamin exclaimed.

"Put my brother _down_ Jett." Ludwig ordered.

The Australian grunted and dropped Gilbert back on his feet. The German fixed the wrinkled in his hoodie gave Jett a smug smirk.

"What's going on here?" the German brother asked.

"Geez West, we're just fooling around…" Gilbert joked.

"Is this true Jett?" Ludwig turned towards the Australian.

In all means of actuality, Jett really wanted to punch Gilbert. _Really_ wanted to. But instead refrained himself from acting out that desire. He shouldn't resort to violence – he was mature than that. Plus punching Gilbert in the nose would probably lead to bigger problems for him…

"Yeah… just horsing 'round," Jett lied.

He pulled the German into a headlock and frizzled his hair, "Between friendly mates."

Ludwig was half-convinced, "_Sure_… but let me remind you two that this is a meeting – not recess at school."

"I don't want to see this again." he warned, eyeing the Australian.

"Understand?"

With nods of agreement, the group dispersed and Gilbert followed his younger brother to the other end of the room. It was only then that Jett realised that Benjamin was still present, glaring at him.

"Uh…"

"What is the matter with you?!" the New Zealander snapped.

"You're acting so out of control! This isn't like you and you know it!"

"I know, I know," the Australian huffed and plopped down in his seat.

"Lately things haven't been in my favour."

"This has to do with last night doesn't it? I could hear what Gilbert and his friends were blabbering on about." Benjamin said.

"Oz, what the fuck happened?"

"I don't know." Jett replied.

"_You don't know?"_

"**I don't know." **the Australian repeated.

Benjamin looked at him for a moment, reading his eyes.

"… _Okay then_, but you better remember because I'm not dealing with _this_." the New Zealander warned.

Once everyone was accounted for and seated, the meeting began with an oral orientation by Switzerland. Next was Byelorussia, who gave a report on her country's economic increase since last year. When she was done, Spain took the stand and addressed the audience with a trade diagram of the Mediterranean trading bloc, explaining the strongest (France) and weakest (Southern Italy) links. After him came Rumania, who brought up the unionist sentiments for his neighbour Moldova. While these reports and presentations were being discussed, light refreshments were served.

As the meeting the progressed, the Australian found himself inexplicably losing interest. Really, these meetings of late were getting more and more predictable. It was same routine over and over; it started out normal and organised, then everything descends into arguments. Already France and Britain were arguing, and it appeared that Spain had poked Southern Italy one too many. It didn't take long for _him_ blow his top.

_Typical. _

Rolling his eyes at the typical scene, Jett glanced around the room. His eyes stop wandering when they found Mikkel, and the Australian felt his heart skip a beat. He looked away when the Dane noticed his stare and then resumed staring when Mikkel turned his attention back to the meeting. The Dane seemed to be his usual cheery self; confident attitude, cocky grin, and opinionated voice. It made Jett pondered if Mikkel had remember anything last night.

Not that he _wanted_ him remember…

The Australian frowned at the thought. Hell, he didn't even _want_ acknowledge what happened. It happened, it's done, and it's in the past. End of story, case closed – _the end_.

Yet somehow… a part of him wanted Mikkel to bring it up or at least comment about it. What? _He wasn't that good?_ Of course not… he's _always_ been good – not that he needed the Dane to say that.

Alas after four hours of meaningless squabbles, the meeting was finally adjured. Throughout the whole ordeal Jett stared on and off at Mikkel, studying the Dane's behaviour. The Australian was spared any jokes or comments, solidifying his speculation that Mikkel didn't remember anything from last night. Though relived from embarrassment, Jett wasn't satisfied. Apart of him wanted to confront the Dane about this whole mess.

"_He's probably faking it."_

"_He probably knows."_

Jett presumed this as he got up from his seat and headed toward Mikkel. But at the last minute, he stopped and sighed. Instead, he watched the Dane walk out of the conference room with his friends, talking very loudly. The Australian wasn't ready to confront him yet.

"Jett. **Kirkland**."

Besides… he had other issues to attend.

Jett winced as his name was called, recognising and knowing whom that voice belonged too. He turned around, greeting the sight of a shorter man standing before him. The man has blonde hair, green eyes, and bushy eyebrows. He had his arms crossed at the Australian and his eyebrows scrunched into a frown. The man was a gentleman who's… _'colourful'_ vocabulary and tone matched his cynical attitude.

His name is Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Previously, Jett's caretaker.

"Care to explain _why_ you were absent from last night's meeting?" the Briton demanded.

"Uh… I was busy…?"

"Of course," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"_Of course_, you were busy – it's _obvious_ that you were busy with things _much_ more important than the Commonwealth."

"Then again, I shouldn't be this upset." the Briton sighed disappointedly.

"I mean I kind of expected this… from someone like _you_…"

Jett rolled his eyes, "I get it Arthur – _I'm a fucking screw-up_. You don't need to remind me every five damn minutes."

"Look, _I'm sorry_ okay? I'm sorry for missing the meeting and I've already apologised to Ben. I'll be sure to be at the next one on time."

"Oh, you _will_ be…"

There he went – right into a nagging lecture. Once again Jett found himself tuning out from one of Arthur's lengthy lectures about keeping promises and whatnot. Honestly the Australian couldn't care less what was coming out of the Briton's mouth. He felt like whatever he did wasn't good enough for Arthur's standards. It was always about how Jett should be more like _this_ and instead of _that_.

_Always. _

Ignoring the 'how I'm disappointed in you' speech, Jett's eyes scanned the meeting room. Crowding throughout were a number of Nations that hadn't left yet, forming small groups as they chattered with their close allies and glowered at their enemies. The Australian could see Benjamin chatting it up with Tonga and Seychelles teasing that Icelandic teen. He saw the Baltics, and Latvia appeared to be crying to Estonia. Jett could even spot the U.S., whom was babbling nonsense to his meek assistant.

"_What's his name again? Alex? Alexis? Alexei—" _

"Jett!" Arthur snapped.

"What?!" the Australian turned his attention back to the Briton.

"Did you even _hear_ what I just said?"

"Well… no." Jett replied, scratching his head.

"What were you talking about?"

Arthur's eyebrow twitched in irritation, "Never. _**Mind**_."

With that, the Briton walked away from Jett, muttering 'wanker' under his breath. The Australian sighed and turned the other way, towards the conference room's doors. Leaving the chatter behind him, Jett walked down the hallway, head low and demeanor rueful.

"_Nice going dumbarse."_

"_Now everyone's pissed at you."_

His thoughts seemed to be against him too; the Australian frowned in annoyance and quickened his pace a bit. This whole day has been horrible for him. Jett wished that he could just crawl back in bed and forget everything.

"Jett?"

"Hey Jett!"

Hearing someone call his name, the Australian turned around. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that it was _Mikkel _calling him. Jett swallowed dryly as the Dane approached him.

"M-Mikkel…"

"I thought you left already." Mikkel said.

"No, but I'm leaving tonight." Jett replied.

"I see..."

An awkward silence fell upon them. It was a rather uncomfortable silence. Jett held his tongue – he didn't know what to say. _What could he say anyway?_ This whole situation with the Dane was hard to explain.

"So…"

"What?" Jett asked.

Mikkel coughed, "So I was getting dressed and I found… well…"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the sunglasses. "These are yours' right?"

The Australian felt the blush creep across his face as he was presented the accessory. He didn't expect the Dane to know that they were his'. _Does this mean...-_

"Yeah, they're mine," Jett took the pair and stuffed in his pocket.

"Thanks."

"How—"

"—You borrowed them. _Remember?_"

It was a lie – Jett knew that. He just hoped the Dane didn't realise that. Mikkel eyed him suspiciously.

"Yeah… _borrowed_…" he murmured.

"…"

"…"

"I'm… I'm just going to leave now…" the Dane pointed to the opposite direction.

"Oh well - … see you around." Jett said.

The Australian watched as Mikkel waved and parted down the hallway.

It was only then, when the Dane disappeared from view, that Jett realised the blush hadn't fade from his cheeks.

* * *

He tussled and turned in bed, trying to fall asleep.

But it was no use.

Groaning, Jett turned to see the clock – 1:39 AM.

He couldn't sleep. Today's events were troubling him. From waking up and finding Mikkel sleeping beside him to finding the exact same Dane acting like nothing happened…

"_But what __**did**__ happened?"_ the Australian thought.

Apparently, from what he remembered and from what Gilbert implied, Jett had gone to the bar, got insanely drunk, met Mikkel and went back to the Dane's room to have hot, rough sex. Not that he actually _enjoyed_ it…

Jett chewed his lip.

…Okay, maybe he _did_ enjoy it.

Fine, he _loved_ it.

All right – _he fucking loved being pounded into the mattress by Mikkel's—_

"Dammit!" Jett punched his pillow in frustration.

Fine.

He admits it.

Jett Kirkland had hot, rough sex with Mikkel Densen and he _fucking loved it_.

So then, why was he going through all this? Why was he stumbling over his emotions and feelings confused? Intoxicated or not, Mikkel wasn't _exactly_ the first person in mind to sleep around with. If that's so, then why did he sleep with him? Out of everyone he could think of, why did Jett pick Mikkel?

"_Think Oz… think!"_ the Australian mentally screamed.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember.

"_Okay… I'm shifting through papers…"_

"_Gilbert invites me out for drinks…"_

"_I say no…"_

* * *

"_Oh come now Jett, you deserve a break." François said._

"_Yeah! You work too much – it's high time you had some R&R!" Gilbert exclaimed._

"_Guys, I'd love to, but there's a Commonwealth meeting tonight and Arthur said it was very important for all members to attend." Jett explained. _

"_Don't get me wrong, I'd really love to, but you know how Arthur is about skipping..." _

"_So what? I bet Arthur won't even notice your gone." the Prussian argued._

"_Plus it's just a few drinks. Nothing more than that." Antonio added. _

"_What do you say? Drinks are on us!" _

"_Well… since you're paying…" the Australian said, a little uncertain. _

_So they all piled into a taxi and drove to the nearest bar. After a short drive, the taxi pulled up to an average-looking bar. Jett felt a bit uneasy, seeing as he was skipping out on a supposedly important meeting. Gilbert reassured him again that everything was going to be fine and Arthur won't find out about their 'excursion'. Feeling somewhat relived, the Australian allowed himself to be dragged into the establishment._

_The place wasn't too big or too small, nor was it too crowded. The patrons were friendly and the service hospitable. Finding such hospitality they were receiving was rather rare in the city. A waitress recognised them immediately and quickly seated them a table. _

"_The usual?" she asked. _

"_Yeah, but an extra mug for our friend," Gilbert gestured to Jett._

"_Of course." the waitress gave a wink towards the Australian, which in turn made him blush._

_"Friendly sheilas you got here." Jett chuckled._

"_The friendliest in Hamburg." the Prussian boasted. _

_After a few minutes of waiting, the waitress returned with a tray of mugs. Jett's lips quivered as stared at his beverage with uncertainty. His conscious kept pestering him that this was a bad idea and he should be at Arthur's meeting. But at the same time he felt like he deserved this, seeing as how hard he'd been working lately. The Australian downed the beverage in one swig, satisfied with his decision he chose. _

"_That 'a boy!" Gilbert slapped him on the back. _

"_That's the Oz we know!"_

_They all laughed and the German ordered another round of mugs. Eventually, the orders became more frequent as everyone, particularly Jett, consumed more and more alcohol. Any doubts and regrets were quickly cast aside as the Australian continued drinking. They were replaced with emotions stirred up by intoxication. Some were positive, some… _

**"_I fuckin' hate that pommie."_**

… _not so much. _

_Jett took another swig, "F-Fuckin' grouch… s-seriously Frog, what… what do you s-see in him?" _

"_True, Angleterre can be bitter, but at the same time he can be a wonderful person…" François explained. _

"_Plus he makes the cutest face when he's mad."_

_The Australian rolled his eyes and took a longer swig, "Th—e fuck is his—his problem anyway."_

"_T-Treating me like—like a fucking kid… I'm almost thirty dammit!" he slurred. _

_The trio could only giggle at Jett's rant. To them he looked ridiculous; hazy eyes, flushed from alcohol, and surrounded by empty mugs. _

"_You poor thing." Antonio cooed. _

"_Go on – drown your problems," Gilbert handed him another mug._

"_I-I think—I ha-d enough—"_

"—_But we—"_

"—_Surely—"_

"_No," the Australian stands up. _

"_I'm done…" _

_Jett walks away, although there is a slight wobble with his walk. However he doesn't walk far before bumping into someone._

"_Sorry mate." _

"_Jett?"_

_Jett blinked and a smile grew on his face. _

"_Hey! Mikkel…!" He says, giving the Dane a hug._

"_Uh… hey… what's up?" Mikkel noticed the haze in the Australian's eyes. _

"_Just having a few drinks." Antonio butted in. _

"_Care to join us?" Gilbert asked, raising a mug._

* * *

_A heated kiss was broken as Jett found himself being pushed down onto the bed. He giggled, amused by the action, and watched the sapphire eyes above him with great interest. The eyes, impaired by intoxication, viewed the Australian with similar regard. After removing his shirt, Mikkel hovered over Jett, slowly kneeing his legs apart. A shiver ran through the Dane's back as he looked down at the half-naked man under him, whom looked back with an inviting smile. _

"_Something wrong?" Jett asked. _

"_I-I mean… this is so sudden…" Mikkel murmured._

"_I know right?" the Australian chuckled. _

"_We've just meet!"_

"_I know right?!" _

_They both laughed, as if this whole situation was a rather humourous joke. _

"… _But what if… what if we… y'know…?" the Dane trailed off, feeling uncertain. _

"… _Then let's make it count." A kiss was planted gently on Mikkel's lips. _

_But the thing was, this kiss wasn't like the ones in at the bar, or in the lobby, or in the elevator, and most certainly like the ones in the proceeding hotel corridor. _

_This one was different. _

_This one **meant** something._

_To him. _

_As his lips departed from the Dane's a smile grew again on Jett's face. _

"_C'mon **Danmark**…"_

_Fingers toy with Mikkel's belt. _

"_Show me the Viking's way…"_

* * *

**A/N**

**Dear Lord… I actually rewrote this chapter… and got it done…!**

**So… yeah,**

**I'm re-writing _Tangerines That Are Bitter_.**

**Why?**

**Well… after re-reading chapters one, two, and three I was like, "Hold on… some things don't sound right and some things don't make sense sentence wise…"**

**That and certain characters' characterisations weren't kinda… good in my opinion.**

**Tl;dr – I re-read the story. Didn't like certain bits. Now re-writing it.**

**…**

**…**

**_Sooo…_**

**I ship crack.**

**Problem?**

**Tell me about it.**

**Anyway, please excuse my attempts at writing characters drunk – it's a hard thing for me to do really.**

**Translation & Notes **

**There's no canon age for Australia, so he's like 29-30 in this fic.**

**Personally, looking back, "Benjamin" sounds better than "Karl" does.**

**_Angleterre_ – England**

**The Commonwealth is this organisation of England and its former dominions. Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and South Africa are the 'old' Commonwealth while everyone else is the 'new' Commonwealth. Of course, this is all memory serving me… please correct me D:**

**The "meek assistant" mentioned was my OC.**

**Don't worry, he's not going to steal the spotlight.**

**Other than that (or at least what I can think of…),**

**Comment?**

**Feedback?**

**Review?**

**Please?**


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